A Muggle Disease
by Gamma Orionis
Summary: Rabastan was outside, walking in the Lestranges' gardens with Rodolphus, when the coughing started. Written for the "Women's Skeleton" event in the Hogwarts Winter Games on the HPFC Forum.


Author's Notes: Written for the "Women's Skeleton" event in the Hogwarts Winter Games – write about a character becoming injured or sick. (Sick, in this case).

)O(

Rabastan was outside, walking in the Lestranges' gardens with Rodolphus, when the coughing started. At first, it was just a little scratching in the back of his throat, and it didn't stop him from smiling while he watched Rodolphus climb the great oak tree and crawl out along one of the branches to perch overhead. He pulled out his handkerchief and coughed into it, but with every breath of air, the scratching in his throat intensified, and that made him cough harder, which made the scratching worse. And every time he thought he was finished, a fresh bout caught him.

"Rabastan?" Rodolphus dropped from the tree as gracefully as a cat. "What's the matter? Did you breathe something in?"

Rabastan shook his head. The coughing simply wouldn't stop, and his throat itched and ached badly. Tears were coming to his eyes. His throat felt like pieces were being torn out of it, and he could barely draw breath.

"Rabastan!" Rodolphus's voice was so panicked that Rabastan wished that he could stop coughing long enough to tell him that he was all right, even though he wasn't. "Rab- oh!" Rabastan's legs had buckled, and he would have fallen if Rodolphus hadn't been there to catch him. His handkerchief slipped out of his hands and fell onto the ground, and Rabastan stared at it. The clean, white fabric was spotted with blood and something black.

Rabastan covered his mouth with the back of his hand and tried to choke back his coughing. Rodolphus's face had gone white, and he was staring at the handkerchief.

"Rod?" Rabastan managed.

"You're sick." Rodolphus's voice was strained. He was clearly trying not to let any panic show in his voice. "You must have eaten something bad. You need to go to bed."

"I don't _feel_ sick." But as soon as he said that and tried to straighten up, the whole world seemed to jerk and reel under Rabastan's feet, and he couldn't keep himself standing.

Rodolphus scooped him up into his arms as easily as if he had weighed nothing at all, and he didn't protest. He let Rodolphus carry him inside and up the stairs and lay him down in bed, and didn't say a word.

"I'll fetch Mother." Rodolphus brushed his hand lightly against Rabastan's arm, then left him, and Rabastan closed his eyes and tried not to cough. He forced himself to breathe very, very slowly.

Rabastan wasn't aware of his mother coming in, and the next thing he knew, he was looking up at an unfamiliar man's face.

He started to open his mouth to ask who he was, but he could only cough. The man leaned over him and held a handkerchief over his mouth until the coughing stopped.

"He's in quite the state, isn't he?" the man asked, and from somewhere out of Rabastan's sight, he heard his mother say, "He's never been this ill before. He's always been delicate, but..."

"Can you hear me?" he asked Rabastan in a loud, clear voice, and Rabastan swallowed and nodded.

"Can you speak?"

He opened his mouth and managed to whisper, "Who are you?" before he started coughing again.

"I'm a healer. Your mother sent for me."

Rabastan nodded to indicate that he had heard and understood, then put both hands tightly over his mouth and coughed into them. When he lowered them, his palms were speckled with blood.

"Well, what's the matter with him?" Mother's voice was close by, and it was shrill and nervous. "Has he been poisoned?"

"No, Madam, I don't think he's been poisoned."

"Then what is it?"

The healer looked rather worried, and that made Rabastan's heart thump painfully in his chest. What could be so wrong with him that it could worry a man whose life's work was examining sick and injured people? He glanced around the room and saw Rodolphus standing against the wall, and as soon as he caught his eye, Rodolphus stepped forward. He sat on the bed beside him and held his hand.

"I... I believe it is a Muggle disease, Madam."

"A Muggle disease?" Mother sounded skeptical. "What sort?"

"Muggles call it consumption, if I am not mistaken."

"And how did my son come to have it?

"I- I couldn't say, Madam. I assume that you don't allow him to interact freely with Muggles?"

"Of course not!"

"Then I haven't the first idea how he came to be sick with one of their diseases."

"Well!" The colour had drained from Mother's usually-rosy cheeks, and she forced out a high, trilling laugh. "You can cure it, can't you? If it's a Muggle disease, it can't be very difficult to cure, can it?"

"Ah." The healer looked uncomfortable. "Well, Madam, I'm afraid... I'm afraid it's a little more difficult than that. Wizards aren't usually susceptible to them, you see. We are usually so much stronger, so illnesses affect us far less – and so we don't..."

Rabastan didn't hear any more. Rodolphus pulled him up close against him and put his hands firmly over his ears to block out what they were saying, and Rabastan didn't protest. He didn't want to hear the healer tell Mother about how he was sick with something that Muggles had – he might as well have had a disease that only affected dogs. Rabastan buried his face in Rodolphus's shirt to shut out the light. The darkness, and the warm, soft fabric, and the feeling of Rodolphus's arms around his shoulders and his hands over his ears soothed him a little, even when words slipped through.

"...Not much I can do..."

"...Suggest you get things in order and start preparing a funeral..."

"...I'm very sorry."

)O(

_Fin_


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